Eyes of the Beholder - Of Gods & Ascension
by VintageTorquoise
Summary: Long ago, the Alterans ascended and left their galaxy to the Ori. But in the process of subjugating that galaxy, events arise that lead to the creation of a new race of ascendants - and the involvement of other unforeseen shadows. *see chapter one for a list of crossovers*
1. Chapter 1: Ascension

**Author's Note**: This entry will focus primarily on 'god-like' entities seen in several familiar stories. I realize more hardcore sci-fi fans tend to dislike them, but I find fantasy worth writing too. This is an anthology (one of several I plan to write) that uses numerous continuities (universes/settings). It ties together with all my other stories on this site.

Chronologically, this story begins a few centuries after the ascension of the Alterans. Bear in mind the scenes in this entry are meant to 'set the stage' for future stories, not be self-contained. In that same vein, I could've used these as 'flashbacks' for new stories, but I'd rather have it all set up ahead of time. They're all interlinked in ways not immediately apparent, but I apologize if it's somewhat confusing at first.

If you can't read some of the words in this chapter, try viewing it with Firefox. I realized Google Chrome didn't render them correctly.

I decided to merge the original five chapters into two to make room for a new series of scenes or short stories. I've also changed this from being a predominantly Star Trek/Stargate crossover to a Misc/X-over fic in order to allow for more crossovers without a _specific_ focus. I still plan on eventually making a decent Trek/Gate story though.

Crossovers include (or will include): Stargate SG-1/Atlantis, Star Trek TNG/DS9/VOY, Andromeda, Myst/Riven, Independence Day, Mass Effect, Prometheus, War of the Worlds, Command & Conquer, System Shock, Majora's Mask, Kingdom Hearts, Assassin's Creed, Atlantis: The Lost Empire

* * *

><p>-= <strong>48 million years ago, in the Ori Home Galaxy<strong> =-

"Where are they?"

A non-corporeal entity composed of what many would consider fire stood in the center of a large, open room with a massive window looking out into the stars beyond. It was clearly annoyed, either at the limitations of the star-borne ship she now stood within, or at the fact that she was almost the last of her kind to be left aboard one.

The Alterans had ascended no more than a few centuries ago, and after the Ancients left, the Ori spread across the galaxy in vast waves. When many younger species began to worship them, the Ori found they were empowered by this praise. In reality, this effect was caused by the will contained within each soul (or 'quantum signature', as it became designated among the scientifically advanced species). This was why the Anunnaki of the Milky Way would attempt to force humanity to believe in the protection of their world against the sun's eruption; yet, force of belief ignores the will of the user, and is thereby useless this way.

Thus, the Ori began to destroy species who refused to submit. Building off of technology discovered on other worlds, as well as the Alterans' own advances, the Ori sent forth hordes of ships that could level entire planets in minutes when used in force. Some of those species attacked survived in small numbers, and those refugees scattered throughout the galaxy.

Some, such as the people of a certain middle-aged scientist, tried to construct weapons of their own to fight back. Others, however, sought ways to leave their galaxy. It was one of the latter that the Ori now had the most difficult task of locating. They couldn't let the non-believers escape, for if they chose to return in greater numbers, the Ori might have to fight a costly war. That they couldn't allow.

"Manea," spoke a disembodied voice to the Ori now searching the edge of the galaxy for the survivors of a doomed world. "Tell us, have you found the Travelers?"

"No," was Manea's irked response. "Their ship disappeared from sensor range an hour ago, and I've not been able to sense them."

"They have technology that prevents us from finding them with our minds." The voice was clearly unhappy, but a hint of respect could be heard as a subtle undertone. "No other species has accomplished such a feat."

"I know that." Manea's eyes scanned the dark expanse. "They must have also found a way to hide from our ship's sensors..."

"On the contrary." When the voice began to point out something Manea wasn't aware of, the Ori turned away from the viewing port and crossed her arms, waiting to hear the voice's explanation. "You are getting closer to the galactic barrier. It can cause severe sensor distortions. All galaxies have one as a preventative measure."

Manea narrowed her eyes, though she looked at no particular spot in the process. "To prevent what?"

"We've yet to learn that much, Manea." That answer led Manea to grit her incorporeal teeth in frustration. Telling their worshipers that the Ori are all-knowing was easy enough; but actually knowing everything was a different matter altogether, even for beings at their stage of evolution. "Use caution when approaching the barrier. Prevent the Travelers from escaping through it at all costs."

"I would appreciate some idea of where they could go." Manea frowned as she turned back to look out at the stars. "How will they pass through the barrier?"

For a moment, the voice didn't respond. Then it returned with a confident answer. "There is a slipstream path that begins near the border. A few parts of it branch out into nearby galaxies, but most end in the void between them. Should these Travelers be able to navigate the passage, they can escape to another galaxy. Go there now, and 'pray' you aren't too late." The voice finished its transmission with one final, threatening tone. "Stop them before they reach the passage. Do not fail us."

Manea merely watched the stars go by without a single reaction. Now wasn't the time to argue. After ordering the prior to set course for the passage, which she could sense far more clearly than anything else near the rift, Manea released the form she was maintaining so she could float about as pure energy - a way to 'rest' before her final assignment.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, the Ori warship jumped out of hyperspace near the coordinates Manea had provided. As the behemoth flew into range of the unseen slipstream path, which hovered not far from the fluctuating blue and white energy that composed the galactic barrier, the prior spotted a large convoy of smaller ships heading towards it. Upon verifying that the ships were the ones that escaped Haven, the planet upon which the Travelers lived, the prior immediately notified Manea.<p>

"I see them," Manea stated coldly as she stood in her open chamber, staring out at the small fleet of ships. "Destroy them."

Before the prior could even give the command to engage the refugees, he sensed something from one of the Traveler ships. "They are hailing."

Though Manea was about to order the prior to simply ignore it, she considered the possibility of it being a surrender. Surely the Ori could use more worshipers, and the Traveler technology was far too advanced to be destroyed. Seeing this as an opportunity, Manea ordered, "Let them speak."

The unspoiled view of space Manea had been looking out of earlier was soon replaced by a face - that of the Traveler himself, along with the rest of his kind working on consoles in the background. "Ori warship," his message began in earnest. The Traveler's expression showed concern, and his voice betrayed a sense of urgency. "Break off your attack! Do not follow us through the slipstream passage!"

Now Manea frowned. So it hadn't been an offer of surrender after all. "Afraid we'll destroy the last of your kind, Traveler?" Manea spoke with clearly hostile intent, angered by the stubbornness of this species. "Surrender, and you will all be spared."

"I'm afraid we can't do that." The Traveler's voice, despite showing some concern, was otherwise very calm and collected - most interesting given the precarious situation the Travelers now found themselves in. "If you attempt to follow us through the slipstream, you will either be destroyed or lost in the void. Do not attempt to follow us. I repeat, do not-"

Manea cut the transmission with a wave of her arm. She then glared at the ships that were getting ever closer to the slippoint. "Destroy them."

As if responding directly to her command, the Ori warship promptly launched itself forward and began charging the primary beam weapon. Just as it began to swoop in over the fleet, the first of the Travelers' ships entered the slipstream point. But the ones in the middle weren't so lucky. The Ori ship's beam weapon shot straight through two of the ships, and it was able to fire a second volley that destroyed three more before it passed overhead.

"Get the rest of the ships through! We'll hold them off!" That was the command issued by the Traveler in charge of the fleet to the second-in-command, who managed another ship. As soon as he'd gave that order, the fleet admiral's ship broke off from the rest and charged at the Ori warship. Though much smaller and far outclassed, it still fought valiantly to save the rest of the fleet.

But Manea wasn't one who could be dissuaded from completing a mission that easily. Instead of engaging the small ship, it began to fly right past it, eyes on the goal.

"You're not getting away that easily..." The Traveler admiral shouted his next order at the pilot: "Take us in! Ram their port engine core!" He gave the Ori ship on the viewscreen a stern look. "Our people will be free..."

Just as Manea thought she had succeeded in bypassing the troublesome little gnat, she heard an explosion and felt the ship rumble momentarily. Though it did nothing to throw her immaterial form off-balance, it confused her until the prior's voice spoke through the intercom. "They've damaged the engines."

"Keep following them!" Manea practically yelled the order. The prior was quick to oblige as always, and he directed the ship to continue forward. Another lash of the Ori beam took out two more, but nearly seven others began to enter the slippoint.

"They are entering the slipstream. We cannot-"

"I said _follow_ them!" At Manea's enraged order, the prior acquiesced and led the ship into the slipstream mere moments behind the last of the Travelers' ships.

Though no Ori had entered this alternate dimension before, Manea didn't care. All that mattered was the recovery of the Travelers and the satisfaction that comes from an Ori contributing to its own kind. But as the ship found itself engulfed by the strings of gigantic, writhing monstrous tendrils that could be rode from one part of the universe to another, Manea somehow knew this wasn't going to end with her victory.

The ship traversed along one of the strings just behind the Travelers, but it didn't take long for it to come across an intersection. Here's where they failed. Manea's lack of confidence led to her decision being the wrong one - and they ended up arriving in the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we?" Manea demanded, but the prior was unable to answer. Though they were lucky enough to avoid destruction, neither Manea nor the prior were able to determine where each strand would take them. More importantly, the prior and all the soldiers on-board were now unconscious, and only Manea stood in the midst of that silent, darkened ship.

But that wasn't anything compared to what Manea now realized. She had lost contact with the other Ori. She was completely alone - stranded somewhere beyond the galactic rim. The thought terrified her to no end, and now she looked back and forth for an apparition of the Ori to tell her it was alright... that she was still safe and near the galaxy she'd just left.

Yet no such phantom appeared.

Backing away from the center of the room, where she now felt a strong sense of vulnerability, Manea panicked. What was she to do without the other Ori? All their power came from being unified in an ethereal link. Without it, she was nothing but one minor entity... completely incapable of protecting even herself should the time come.

"T͜he̢y liè...́"

A voice Manea had never heard before whispered into the room around her, its words echoed by the whispers of many others. Startled, she turned to face its source... then flew back into the corner of the room, not once averting her fearful gaze from what hovered before her.

It was a tall humanoid figure, composed of what could only be described as many ebony shards of glass, each continuously fluctuating in a manner that suggested they composed a single, incorporeal entity. Wide open eyes of glowing red stared dispassionately through Manea.

"The͝ ̶t͝rút͟h͡... i̕s à d̵éc͟e̵pt̴i͡o̸n.͝.͢.͘" The sinister shadow continued. "Y̢o͟u ̛do̡ n̸òt̢ ̴nee͜d̡ t͡he̢m.͠..̢ ͡th̢e̷y ̛li͢e..́. ͏tǫ ͏e͏a͏ch͟ ̵o̧t̴ḩȩr..."

Manea never spoke a word, but she didn't have to. She could sense the unusual being cutting into her mind. The moment she thought of a response, a sharp pain gripped her, and she instinctively jerked back, as though stabbed through the gut with a sword.

"T͞he ͝Ąby͜ss.̨..̴ ͟le̶t ̸i̵t l͘e͝ad y͜o͢u̡..̀." Manea recovered just enough to look back at the immaterial silhouette before her. "R͡e͏tur͟n... ̨ret̶ųr̶n ev̕ery͟t̛h͜i̵ng.͜.̷. t̛o ͢th̡e v̛o͞i͝d..."

"Return," Manea whispered as if she were under a hypnotic spell, though to her, it felt like everything was starting to make sense.

"Consum͘e̷..̵. c̨on͞sum̕e ̷ev͡er͘yt̢ḩi̴ng.͏.."

* * *

><p>Omega - a single particle considered a source of infinite energy. The Anunnaki of another galaxy called it the 'adar', though nearly all species had a different name for it. Most were only able to construct minor ones; yet only a select few could stabilize them... and fewer still could create the ultimate omega itself. In its simplest form, it can power the technology of an entire planet; combined, these simple omega could even control life itself around a single planet or an entire sector of space consisting of hundreds of systems. But in its purest form, the ultimate accomplishment, it could control <em>the very fabric of reality itself<em>.

While the Grey casually created these particles for themselves, only the Anunnaki created one of similar universal power - and were able to contain it. No other managed the same, except for one - a minor civilization in the cosmos of another universe. These people were called the Gi'ni - later to be known as the Genii - by another called the ronay, whom they traded extensively with. Those ancient Genii relied on the ronay to provide them with a powerful magic (of a sort) called the Art, which helped spur their discovery of the fabled omega, and their successful attempt. However, though the particle was stabilized, it tore apart their entire universe save for a piece of land that remained hovering in the midst of nothing; the only survivors had fled through the linking books, artifacts capable of transporting living beings across universes, to this galaxy harboring the Ori... and an aging race that had suffered terribly under the aforementioned 'gods'.

"You want me to stop?" The man who spoke laughed. "Don't be absurd. We're on to the discovery of a lifetime. I won't let fear keep me from completing this project."

"Billions could die!" Another man shouted. Unlike the one he spoke to, this one appeared relatively older. After surviving the destruction of his home, he knew what the adar could do, and - more importantly - what it could become.

"Be silent! I have no interest in hearing your pitiful excuses!" With that said, the speaker began to ascend a set of metal stairs that would lead to the central chamber - where the alpha and omega would soon be at hand.

"You don't understand! The Ori know about this! They made us create it in the first place, and we failed!"

The other man stopped mid-step halfway up the stairs and looked up, letting out an audible, melodramatic sigh. "Oh please," he said as he looked down at the one trying to scare him away from this auspicious occasion. "Your kind used nothing more than simple radios and tesla coils. You were still in the dark age compared to us. And then you came here, brought with you the knowledge of the ages, and you still believe we would make the same mistakes as you?"

"Listen to me, Quidel!"

"No, _you_ listen to _me_!" Quidel shouted, pointing at the man who persisted in stopping him. He began descending the stairs, step by step, all the while speaking. "_All_ my life, I've been forced to run. _All_ my life, I've been forced to hide. My parents, my brothers, my sisters... they were all _killed_ when the Ori arrived! Now I have the chance to stop them from killing billions more, and you want me to just sit here and let them get away with it?"

That was when Quidel's detractor grew quiet, watching calmly as Quidel glared daggers into him. "Then we will all die."

"I hope you're wrong, Kliment. Because I'm about to become more powerful than the Ori themselves." With that, Quidel turned and proceeded up the stairs to his destiny.

As he finished inputting the proper commands into the control panel, the building shook as the generators powered up. Quidel looked up at the massive, white dome above them. Then, closing his eyes and hoping beyond all else that Kliment was wrong, he pressed the button.

* * *

><p>When Quidel opened his eyes, he saw nothing but a blinding light surrounding him. Everything was eerily silent. Though he looked, he couldn't spot Kliment or any of his scientists amid the harsh glow.<p>

"What is this?" The scientist muttered aloud. "Where am I?"

"In a place where your spirit lingers," softly spoke what could only be described as a feminine voice.

"Lingers?" Quidel furrowed his brow as he squinted in a vain attempt to see the voice's origin. "What do you mean 'lingers'?"

Then a figure began to emerge, though Quidel could barely see it. It was a woman clothed in a white robe or dress, though her form flowed as though she was composed of ribbons, each so bright they made Quidel squint further. But no matter how her figure looked, her face remained unfazed, and her gaze set upon him.

"Who are you?"

"One who believes in truth."

"Truth?" Quidel's expression soon changed with his mood, which simmered from confusion to a spark of anger waiting to be set ablaze. "Are you an Ori?"

"No." Her answer did little to subdue Quidel's suspicions, but she continued anyway. "I'm the last of my kind."

"Kind? What kind?" Quidel took a step back, though it would've seemed more like stumbling with his lack of coordination. He tried to look around, but his vision couldn't pierce the light. "Where am I?"

"You're on the plane of ascension. I brought you here."

"Why?"

"To help me... to help all of your kind."

For a moment, Quidel didn't respond. He simply stood there trying to think of what he could say, or rather what he should say. But before he could compose a decent enough speech, he found himself interrupted by the other entity.

"I'm the avatar of your sun. I've followed your people to their new world, protecting them as best I can. But my powers... are limited."

Though Quidel wanted to ask how, the avatar explained. "With the rest of my kind gone, I cannot stand against the Ori alone. Your people I sent to this new world to meet the Genii who came from another cosmos. I wanted you there so that you would construct the device that ultimately created the omega."

"But why?" Quidel asked. "Why didn't you just tell us sooner? I would have constructed the device anyway!"

"Because," began the avatar. "You needed what the Genii had to provide. Data. The Art. All of it meant to coalesce around the omega."

"Then why is this omega so important to you? Can it really be used as a weapon against the Ori?"

"No." That answer made Quidel flinch. It was precisely the kind of answer he didn't want to hear. "The Ori will soon arrive and begin to fight over the omega unless I take it with me to another Age."

"Then why? Did you just use us? Is that why my family had to die?!"

"Your creation of the omega destroyed your world... but freed your hearts. Now you and all those that were present during the eruption are ascended, though only you have the soul to save them. Disperse your soul into their new minds and bodies, and you will find them all by your side. Your lives as ascendants begins now."

"But... but why..."

"Tell me," the entity began. "What is your name?"

"It's... it's..." Quidel found himself at a loss for words. No complete memories came to him; rather, only an incomplete picture was drawn in the recesses of his mind. "Q... Q-something. Look, what does that have to do with the omega?"

"From now on, you will be known as Q. Rally your forces with that name." Before Q could even respond, the avatar looked aside and said, "I've run out of time. You must join the others and prepare. The Ori are coming, and I must hide the omega away from them."

"But-"

With a quick and silent wave of its incorporeal arm, the avatar sent Q flying back into the eternal ether, his consciousness soon fading and mixing with the ether itself.

* * *

><p>"Why? Why did you save me?" That question originated from the one named Kliment the day he awoke within the astral plane, rescued by Manea from the destruction caused by Quidel's attempt at creating the purest form of omega. "All I see are... are images... thoughts that aren't mine."<p>

"That is because he is with you," the raging form of Manea approached Kliment from the side. The first Genii-turned-Q never turned to face her however, as his eyes were trapped in some kind of hypnotic gaze. "He was always there, since the day he sent me to your world."

"But... but how did he know... where we were?"

"I was the first to discover you." Manea spoke as she hovered behind the ascendant. "The first of you to arrive appeared on a planet called Ver Isca. You called him Tereus."

"Tereus... yes." Kliment's eyes widened in realization. "He disappeared soon after we arrived with the settlers."

"He revealed all I needed to know." Manea stopped in front of the Q and addressed him eye-to-eye. "I kept his secret safe. The Age you come from has yet to be discovered by any other Ori. He wants it that way."

Kliment swallowed a growing lump in his throat - no doubt an illusion caused by his mind's eye and its preference for corporeal form. However, there could be no mistake to Manea or any other Ori: Kliment felt afraid, just like Manea had the day she encountered the Spirit of the Abyss. Yet, in Kliment's case, he couldn't tell if that fear came from the intimidating figure of Manea, or the darkness creeping into his incorporeal veins.

"Can you feel him?" Manea approached, reaching out a hand to touch Kliment by the shoulder. "Can you feel the sorrow? The pain? A desire that wishes nothing more than to end this artificial existence? Our duty is to resolve this eternal nightmare by setting everything back. Before this universe was created."

"Before," Kliment repeated slowly, though the voice of the Abyss inside him didn't speak over his just yet. "Then this is about righting a wrong?"

Manea disappeared from Kliment's peripheral vision, but he knew she was still there, circling him like a hawk on its prey. "What is right about a universe that exists solely on sensation and appearances? What is wrong about an existence in the void that betrays no soul?"

"I..." Kliment struggled with that answer, but he felt it slither out from the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. Then, as the disembodied whispers echoed around him, he uttered: "I exist... for the void."

"Good," Manea chimed in, while the phantom voices continued to converse around them. "Now go. Lead your people through the galactic rim. Leave them to the Abyss, and he will send them to another galaxy... one where they may find the other Alterans that betrayed us. Then return here."

Manea smirked as the haunting spirits began to cackle almost sadistically. "We still have much to accomplish."

* * *

><p>Soon after the preceding event, the celestial avatar that had spoken with Quidel stole away with the omega into the Age of Pegasi - home of the old Genii. Knowing full well that the Ori would soon pursue, it continued forward into the Age of Garternay, world of the mysterious ronay, then escaped from there into another.<p>

The Spirit of the Abyss unleashed Kliment into the plane of ascension where the Q first gathered. Thus, Kliment would take on the name 'Q'... but he would later become the one named 'Quinn'.

Manea began putting the Abyss' commands into practice from the outset of the war. She had countless planets destroyed to feed the Spirit within her. Kliment was also forced to be a destructive force for much the same reason. All worlds came to fear them, though none could differentiate between them and the rest of their powerful ilk. As a result, words like 'Ori' and 'Q' became synonymous with 'wrath' and 'lies' - both describing the tactics of the two ascendant species. But few would dare to utter those words when the two arrived at their doorstep.

Thus war erupted between the Q and the Ori - one fighting for revenge, and the other for power. Both were no less ruthless than the other. But Manea and Kliment worked in secret for the Spirit of the Abyss. It had become their new god - a god to rule all gods, as they would often see it.

And the Abyss still had plans for both of them...

* * *

><p>Within a chamber, in which a vast window gave an unimpeded view of the stars beyond, stood a tiny altar of grey - and upon it rested a book that was open to its front page, where a darkened portal was etched. Unlike others, this one didn't display any sort of image. But an opaque figure coated in a robe of fire standing nearby knew exactly where it would lead. Her eyes bored into the page, but she never once leaned forward or attempted to touch the book.<p>

"Manea," a female voice uttered behind her. "Why did you summon us here?"

With a smirk, the figure called Manea turned and beheld the two figures of a similar incorporeal form staring back at her. One was decently tall, with a surly disposition and her arms crossed in front of her. The other was younger and arguably more beautiful, but she was far less frightening than her counterpart standing beside her.

"Sisters," Manea exclaimed while holding her hands out not far beside her, palms facing them. "Welcome. I thought I would be the only one to enjoy the spoils of this new find."

"The Genii?" The younger one inquired. "The one we caught on Ver Isca?"

"Tereus," the older one specified while still scowling at her other would-be sister. "That was the name he referred himself by."

"Why do you bother to interrogate him further, Feronia?" Manea responded as she turned to face the stars again.

"He brought with him an entire colony of settlers from a world we have never encountered before," said the one called Feronia, the fires around her burning ever more brightly as she spoke. "How can such a limited creature have access to a place untouched by the Ori?"

"Perhaps he came from another galaxy," suggested the 'young' one. "One that we've yet to subdue."

"You forget, Nortia, that he arrived here without warning. Surely we would have known if he had passed through an astria porta, yet we know he didn't."

"You're all forgetting that I called you here." Manea interrupted their banter while still facing the starscape, her arms crossed in front of her.

"And? We're waiting, Manea." Feronia glowered at the back of her fellow Ori.

"I have a proposition." Manea turned and shot a malicious smirk at the other two. That was never a good sign, in their experience. "One that can make us more powerful than all the other Ori combined."

Feronia didn't bat an eye, but Nortia's eyes went wide in disbelief. "You speak of betrayal, Manea. An Ori has never betrayed another."

"Why would I betray the ones responsible for my power?" Manea began to step aside from the altar, though she kept her eyes on the other two immortal beings in front of her. When the other two were given a clear view of the book that laid upon it, they felt a sudden change in the environment - as though a great power were emanating from the book. "I intend for us to bring many of our kind into the next stage of our evolution."

Though Nortia was struck still by the power of the linking book, Feronia shot a skeptical look in Manea's direction. "How?"

Manea's smirk darkened, and the flames that engulfed her now shifted into a lurid, crimson hue. "By erasing the one thing that has held us back for countless millennia:

"The walls that separate us from the infinite possibilities of existence."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Feronia challenged.

"In this book lies an entirely new universe, one with access to numerous worlds no Ori could ever hope to find otherwise. With this book, we can find new means to travel - not between galaxies or solar systems, but entire universes filled with potential worshipers... and no single Ancient or celestial being to stand in our way.

"The people there have access to a means of travel we have never considered. They are superstitious and easy to manipulate, believe me: I have already done so, and in time, the war I have left them with will lead to one of their petty kingdoms engulfing all others. When that happens, we will have a means to more easily distribute the word of Origin beyond this... cage." Manea's eyes first looked around the room before stopping on the book. "No limits will bar us from the ultimate goal."

Feronia and Nortia didn't say anything for the longest time, but when somebody finally spoke, it was Nortia who dared to ask, "How do the Genii fit into this?"

"You still worry about their kind, Nortia?" Manea snarled.

"We just want to make sure you have all your bases covered," was Feronia's quick response. "You've made many grave mistakes before that cost us hundreds of worlds - all because of your incessant desire for chaos and destruction."

"I've had a... change of heart," Manea replied without offering the others even a cursory glance. "My experience in the war has forced me to re-evaluate what is really important."

"And how did you decide upon our 'evolution'? Are we not good enough as we are?"

"The Q," exclaimed Nortia all of a sudden. Her voice betrayed her suspicion and uncertainty. "They changed you, didn't they?"

"That is not important," Manea claimed. But before she could continue, Feronia spoke.

"It is if you plan on change of this magnitude, Manea." There was a deep, haunting echo to her words that hung in the air like a threat or a warning. "The Q are our enemies. Remember that."

"Perhaps," was Manea's only response.

"Perhaps? Do you ignore the damage they've already done?!"

"Feronia," spoke Nortia in a quiet voice, as she tried to hold Feronia back from literally assaulting Manea.

"What do you plan on doing? You want to destroy us next, is that it?!"

"Silence," Manea commanded in a cold, unsympathetic voice. Feronia did indeed grow quiet, but her expression never once softened. "See for yourself what has become of your imagined threat."

Manea waved her hand in front of her, and the 'broken' linking book vanished, only to be replaced by another with a visible image upon its foremost page. The other two Ori glowed ever more brightly as they approached, their powers growing exponentially as they stood within the range of its invisible aura.

"Look. This is what has become of the Genii." Manea held her hand just above the surface of the book. Then, closing her eyes, she channeled a small tunnel of scarlet energy through the portal. After a short while, the room around them began to change form, and all three ori sisters found themselves hovering far off the ground. They were beneath a towering dome that tapered off into a point at the top, though a fair portion of it was gone - replaced by a hole that looked out into a dark sky that rippled like water whilst its red and black clouds moved swiftly and chaotically in all directions.

Feronia and Nortia's eyes, however, were drawn to the bright glow below them, where something like a sun hovered just above the tattered remains of what had been some sort of throne room. Bodies littered the floor, many in the late stages of decomposition - yet there were no flies or other creatures to speak of. Manea lowered herself down in front of the two Ori, her eyes also on the impossibly bright artifact beneath them.

"What is that?" Nortia asked in fascination.

"That," Manea began with a hint of malice in her voice. She looked beyond the light to the bodies that were scattered everywhere, some caught under rubble and others that appeared to have suffered extensive burns all over their bodies. "Is the result of a Genii experiment. One I prompted them to build as a weapon they could use against one another."

"Is it a-" Feronia started, but she was interrupted by Manea.

"It's a source of infinite power. Not even the worship of our mortal creations could ever give us as much as this."

"But," Nortia peered at Manea with uncertainty clear in her eyes. "Why wouldn't you share this with the others?"

"Because," Manea addressed them both. "The others would fight among themselves over this. Its hold on all that is sentient is both infinite and impossible to withstand. Anyone that looks directly upon it will fight to gain it, no matter the cost."

"If you have something to say," Feronia said in a skeptical tone of voice. "Say it."

Manea smirked once more. "I propose a sojourn to the Age of Garternay: a world untouched by the ascended, where the people I mentioned earlier wait - their sole purpose to write these books and give us access to all the realms of existence. There, we will meet one whom I have already ascended, and with his help, I will show you the secret to our evolution:

"How to spread ourselves throughout the fissure and into the worlds once barred from us. And when we are complete," Manea chuckled, a slew of disembodied laughs echoing around her in the process. "W͜e͝ ̀wi̵l̷l becom͜e Tr͡ut̀h."

* * *

><p>-= <strong>59 BE, in the Age of Garternay<strong> =-

A soft gust of wind blows past as the sun sets in the distance. Clouds of yellow and orange break through the soft blue sky, tempered only by the gentler colors of red and purple further from the horizon. An ocean batters the coast in the distance. Atop a cliff stands a figure. He and his staff stood silhouetted against the marvelous backdrop of the sky and ocean beyond. Nearby lies the entrance to the Shrine of One Hope - a cavern within which the ronay's ancestors had discovered the first scarab beetle capable of producing the Ink with which they practiced the Art.

But behind him, another waited with arms crossed. Much as the man with the staff, this one wore an ornate series of robes. Over his shoulders hung a stole upon which was inscribed the color and symbols of his position as King of Gahropat - a great and powerful city in the Age of Garternay. But a great plague ran rampant among the people all across that Age since the days of Fi'tai's foolish mission, and now millions lied dead... until a certain traveler arrived at their gates, bringing with him a miraculous cure.

"You are asking an entire people to abandon their ways in one day? One day?" King T'achti spoke as though the man with the staff was nothing more than insane. "You cannot possibly expect us to change on your behalf, can you? Even if you can heal the sick-"

"As I demonstrated in a show of good faith," said the mysterious figure without turning to face the people's monarch. Below them, on the hills between the mountain and the coast, stood hundreds or possibly thousands of people. All of them wanted to see this man from an age none had yet discovered. Even more, they wished to hear what he had to say - especially after his demonstration in healing the whole city of its sickness. "Now the gods demand you do the same."

T'achti grit his teeth in exasperation. Dealing with this priest all day had been most tiresome, and he felt his attention would be better served elsewhere. Yet he couldn't hold this man in prison for long. The people demanded he be released to continue working his miracles. Finally, after nearly a week, the priest had retreated to this sacred spot, summoning not only the crowd below but also the great king himself. For this, T'achti would never forgive, though the people stayed his hands.

Now the figure turned and faced T'achti, his dull grey skin only adding to the illusion of a withered old man who was on his final death throes. Even his eyes, devoid of all life and equally weary, made no secret that this man's very youth was gone forever.

"All those who reject the Ori reject enlightenment," phrased the prior, whose words fell on deaf ears. "Those who reject enlightenment must be destroyed."

That threat did little to endear T'achti to the prior, and he scowled to show as much. "O'okta," T'achti called out. The elder prophetess of Yahvo stepped into the light and bowed. "Tell us, what do the books of our ancestors say about trusting this man's words? Shall we abandon our Father in place of these 'Ori'?"

"One should not attempt to replace a tree that went before him," replied the blind woman. "One should only seek to grow."

The prior merely offered a frown at the lady's words. T'achti smirked and looked back at the half-dead creature calling itself a priest. "There you have it," the ronay king said with a quick glance toward the priestess. "We reject your... offer."

"The power and greatness of the Ori cannot be denied," claimed the prior. Then he spoke loud enough for nearly all the people below to hear. "Fear not the Ori! Fear the darkness that would conceal the knowledge of the universe! Believe in the truth of all things, and you too will find the path to enlightenment!" Cheers erupted from below as everyone seemed encouraged by those words.

Taken aback by this foreign priest's attempt at coaxing the crowd, O'okta cast her voice out over them as well, shouting: "You rejoice at a spark, though you never see the fire! You rejoice at a star, though you never see the sun!" The prior shot her a look of restrained hatred. "You bow to a liar because the truth can't wait, like the restless who follow the path of folly! You should find solace in patience, not in hollow promises!"

"As the people of the low valley were freed from the yoke of an iron serpent, so shall the Ori free you from the shackles of this falsehood! They will give you the knowledge you so deserve rather than withhold it from you as your priests have done all these years!"

"Only time can teach us! The truth is never so easily seen!"

"Enough!" The prior shouted, catching both O'okta and T'achti by surprise. His expression darkened, and his voice grew low. "Those who are prideful and refuse to bow down shall be laid low and made into dust."

Without warning, the prior raised his staff, then lowered it swiftly. As the bottom hit the ground, a light shone from the top. Then the sky grew dark and people looked on in fear as the most terrifying thing happened, such that even T'achti grew tense. His guards moved toward the prior, but with only a wave of his hand, all three were thrown off the opposite end of the cliff.

"Hallowed are the Ori."

With those words, the clouds began to melt into a pool of radiant crimson, and as the speed and force of the wind picked up, the people of the root could see why.

Their sun was now a vermilion gem hung loosely in the air. Instead of its warm, basking glow, it now radiated with a certain coldness it had lacked before. The prior merely smiled before the light on his staff dissipated. Soon after, his body was engulfed in flames, such that not a trace of him was left afterward.

All that was now left was the vague impression of death incarnate, and a fear that promptly gripped the hearts of many.

* * *

><p>The Great Temple stood secure amidst Gahropat, even though the city itself was torn between those loyal to the old ways and those who embraced Origin. Though the Ori's believers would soon be expelled from the city, they would find much more support beyond its walls. But none of that mattered to Manea now - not as she stood in the central chamber of the temple, surrounded by seven phantom ascended prostrating themselves all around her.<p>

Nortia, Feronia, and Kliment all stood behind her, watching with increasing interest as Manea addressed the first of their new army. Nortia's eyes darted around the room, as though afraid an Ancient or other ascended being might strike them down at any moment. Feronia, however, watched Manea with a clear expression of envy. Kliment stood with his hands behind his back in a stiff, formal pose, a stern look on his face as he eyed each of the new ascendants.

"You've been persecuted. They burned your homes, slaughtered your families, and stole away your lives - all in the names of their god." The ascended worshipers kept their heads bowed low, perhaps afraid of looking an Ori in the eye... or perhaps because the last things they wanted to see was their memories, not the sadistic look of pleasure on Manea's face when all this was over. "Now you will prove how misguided they truly are."

Manea spread her arms outward, and a strong gust of wind snuffed out the only candlelight that kept the temple lit against the night's embrace. Then she began to glow, those wisps of light that composed her body fluttering elegantly as if in a windstorm. Those gleaming ribbons slowly extended from the shapeless center until they filled the entire chamber. Feronia frowned at this; it was clear Manea was enjoying the lack of other ascendants that could limit her power, but the question remained: how did Manea become so ambitious?

"Become my followers. I will not ask for needless worship. You can live in eternal bliss." Manea turned and stared at the stained glass window above her three accomplices, its image depicting a battle between two armies wielding crudely-drawn sticks that seemingly breathed fire - all beneath a glow meant to depict their god, Yahvo. "Join with me, and everything will become clear."

Suddenly, a burst of light erupted from Manea, entombing them all in a radiant gleam... yet it soon entered the seven worshipers, each screaming and writhing in pain as it began to turn into flames.

Just as the fire finished eating away at their ethereal bodies, it began to channel itself into Manea, as though several infernos had shot from their bodies and hit Manea. But rather than feel any sense of pain, Manea merely laughed in that malicious way as the ascendants' bodies faded, and their spirits all channeled into her.

Then it was all over. The bodies had disappeared, leaving only Manea and her co-conspirators in this epic plot. While Feronia and Nortia grimaced at the display, Kliment seemed unaffected - even enjoying it slightly. Manea, however, didn't immediately speak to them; the flames on her body now burned stronger than ever before, and she reveled in the new feeling.

"So," Feronia spat. "Are you finished?"

After a sigh of contentment, Manea responded with her gaze still locked on the window behind them. "It's far from over."

"We must gather as many souls as we can before moving on," was Kliment's stoic reply. He never looked away from Manea, quietly enjoying the sight and knowing full well how this furthered the Abyss' goals. "There are other universes, but we'll need all the strength we can to conquer them."

"Conquer," repeated Nortia with a meek voice. "It seems more like 'destroy'."

"A minor consequence," said Manea as her gaze wandered back to the three in front of her. "Our evolution depends on it."

"_Your_ evolution," Feronia argued bitterly. "Why are we still here?"

Manea smirked, her sly expression matched only by Kliment. "The only way for us to safely harness the power of the omega, without destroying one another, is for us to shed our sense of self-righteousness."

"We must embrace the void," echoed Kliment, who shared a knowing glance with Manea which the other two missed when Feronia was rolling her eyes and Nortia was looking at her.

"You underestimate the Ori, Manea. Just like you always do." Feronia turned and shot a hateful glare at the one called Kliment. "And I still don't see why we should trust this Q."

"Because until we've become more than gods..." Kliment returned Feronia's hateful look. "I will keep the two of you in line."

Feronia faced the Q as the flames around her burned stronger than before. "Don't speak to me like that, you worthless-"

"Don't, Feronia." Nortia spoke her sister's name in order to get her attention, though Manea simply stood there and watched without any emotion whatsoever. "We must work together if our goal is to succeed."

"Listen to her," Manea addressed Feronia before turning to look back at the other side of the room, where the first wave of ronay worshipers were filing in through the front doors. Thanks to the ascendants' unique abilities, they wouldn't see the would-be gods standing among them. "There's still much to be done..."

* * *

><p>-= <strong>31 BE, in the Age of Garternay<strong> =-

"It's a link to the Perfect Age."

To'raht could scarcely believe the words coming out of his friend's mouth. The Perfect Age was an integral part of ronay myth, where it played the role of a celestial afterlife all ronay judged worthy would go to. Yet here his friend stood, trying to convince him that one never had to die to reach the Perfect Age. Even more importantly, he made the outrageous claim that a link to this Age was the only thing that could save their entire species from an unexplained disaster.

"You have to listen to me, old friend." Ja'gon pleaded from the other side of the desk. His hair had started thinning and turning grey, and To'raht knew it wasn't just his age. The ferocity of the Ori cult had begun growing in recent years, and they both knew it was just a matter of time before they began turning against the otherwise peaceful races on Garternay. "I can't entrust it to my son any longer. He has a family to raise, and that will simply interfere with his focus on the book."

It would've been difficult for any casual observer to notice the small, unassuming journal that now sat on the desk in front of To'raht, its pages opened to the front, where a blackened, empty portal waited to be finished. So long as it remained that way, touching the portal would lead nowhere, as the link wasn't completely established. But if Ja'gon was right, it would take many lifetimes - and many kortee'nea, or descriptive books - to Write this immortal Age.

"You're the only Writer I can trust, To'raht." Ja'gon kept looking at To'raht desperately as he spoke, which only worried his old friend even more. "Please don't let me be wrong."

To'raht took a deep breath and slowly reached for the book, which he gently closed without even a single word. Then, after retracting his hand so that he could lean slightly forward, contemplatively staring at the book, he answered in a calm voice.

"I think you should take this book," Ja'gon's confidant began. He finally looked up at his fellow Writer while finishing his thought. "And bury it. Bury it somewhere far away, and leave your ambitions there with it."

"To'raht, you don't understand." Ja'gon practically shouted as he reached down and put his hand over the book's cover. "This is the only thing that can save us!"

"Yahvo is the only one that can save us!" To'raht shouted just as loud, matching Ja'gon's angered glare. The only difference between them now, however, was the fact that Ja'gon felt more betrayed than him. He grew quieter as he continued. "It's time you stopped entertaining these fantasies, Ja'gon."

"When did _you_ stop entertaining them?" Ja'gon narrowed his eyes at the man who once worked alongside him in the Guild of Writers. Together, they'd brought into existence links to so many worlds, and without the limitations which would be forced upon the D'ni of a later era by their Guild of Maintainers, their Ages had vast amounts of magic they could never see on Garternay. "What happened that made you lose your imagination?"

"You want to know what happened?" To'raht stood and pointed out the only window in the room, beyond which were rolling plains and an evening sky... and a blood red sun dipping over the horizon. "_They_ happened!"

"That's no reason to abandon this book." Ja'gon stood his full height and matched To'raht's glare. "People are counting on us."

"Whose people is that, Ja'gon? Whose?" Now To'raht was leaning against the desk, though this time, he ignored his seat. "Because as far as the people of this Age are concerned, we need a god to help us... not false hope."

"That isn't what this is about," Ja'gon responded with a sigh, his head bowed as if in defeat. "There are countless people on many Ages that-"

"Why?" To'raht's potentially rhetorical question caught Ja'gon's attention. With Ja'gon looking him eye-to-eye again, To'raht pressed on. "Why do they matter? They're not _our _Ages. Leave them to their own devices. You need to focus on the here and now."

Ja'gon never once released To'raht from his heartbroken stare, but when the other Writer was finished, he turned and started to walk away. To'raht thought he'd successfully made his point and began to sit down, but stopped and straightened up again when he saw To'raht remove another book from a fold in his robe.

"What is that?"

To'raht's old friend approached the desk again and stared at the book another moment more before gently laying it down next to the 'Perfect Age'. Upon its cover were three golden triangles arranged with two supporting a third in a larger triangular shape. "See for yourself."

Though he didn't want to be dragged into another debate that made his friend seem more and more like a lunatic with every word, To'raht took a deep breath and lowered himself into his seat, pulling the new book towards him in the process. When he opened it up to the first page, he saw a moving image - one that would have beguiled the youth he once was.

The image flew over a great field, in the center of which was what To'raht could only consider a ranch, with a fenced in area for horses mere meters from a series of buildings, all surrounded by a wooden palisade. But beyond that was something even more marvelous: a massive city of grey-brick buildings topped with blue roofs, all surrounding a castle with an enormous tower in the center. Before he could get a better look, the image passed by and flew over many more places, each as fantastic as the last.

But finally, when the image came to a rest, it had looped back over the city from before and continued to a great cathedral that rested comfortably in a small city surrounded by a moat. When it zoomed in to the interior, it looked no more imposing than any temple on Garternay, until it entered a large, underground chamber that was only lit by eerie lights of blue cascading upwards. Though one side of it was a wall clearly resembling the same Gothic style as the main auditorium, the rest of it was hidden in an all-encompassing shadow.

"What is this?"

Ja'gon silently looked between the book and To'raht before responding. "It's an Age that needs hope as much as we do."

To'raht glowered up at Ja'gon with a sour expression. "I meant what's its name?"

One pause of silence later, Ja'gon answered:

"The Age of Hyrule."

* * *

><p>-= <strong>3149 BG, in the Age of Hyrule<strong> =-

"Once upon a time, there were three goddesses. They existed in a heavenly realm when the world was without form. There, they joined their powers together to create Hyrule. Din gave us the physical world we live in. Nayru brought us the rule of law. And Farore created all that lives in Hyrule."

"Why, grandma?" That question came from a young child no more than five years old.

"Your ears may not be as big as the other kids," his grandmother tugged gently at the kid's pointed ears with a laugh, though the child only pouted with his cheeks puffed out. "But I know you were listening."

"But you never said-"

His grandmother laid a finger over his mouth to stop him from talking. Then, with a kind and gentle voice, she said, "The goddesses don't want us speaking of such things, child."

"But grandma..."

The elderly woman merely chuckled at her grandson's melodramatic act. It pleased her beyond words to know that he would grow up wanting to know more about the goddesses, but it also worried her. How far would he go to learn these things?

Finally, she spoke to him again, though in a hushed voice. "It's time for bed, dearie." She leaned down and gave him a gentle peck on the head before righting herself up. "I'll tell you the rest tomorrow."

"Okay," said the child, but his voice indicated he was rather distrusting of his grandmother's promise. Before she put out the candle next to his bed, however, the youngster said with a smile, "Good night."

"Good night, sweetheart." Then she put out the candle and let the room be engulfed in darkness.

When she emerged from the room, the elderly woman closed the door behind her. She then descended the stairs to the den below, where her scarce furniture contrasted with the ornately-dressed man sitting in the armchair on the other side. The only difference between this man and the man he was the day he'd been introduced to the Age of Hyrule was that this To'raht was much older - and it showed.

"Good kid," the ronay said as he reached into a fold of his robe and removed a small, leather-bound book. "But are you sure he'll come here one day?"

The grandmother managed to inch her way to another armchair that sat straight across from the man. After she'd sat down, she answered, "Yes, I'm sure. But..." She became noticeably worried. "Are you sure he'll be alright finding out like this?"

"Nobody would want to find out like this," was To'raht's answer. He obliviously opened the book to the first page and stared intently at the living image. "But if anyone can handle the truth, I'm sure it would be him."

"Why?" The grandmother asked, her concern cutting through the serenity.

"Because Nemin is the descendant of Fi'tai... one of the Writers responsible for-"

"An afterlife?"

To'raht took a deep breath and nodded sagely. "Yes. He was the only one to visit this Age and settle down."

"But why does my grandson need to know?"

"Know what? The fact that this Age was compromised by the Ori from our Age, or that one of his ancestors was a ronay?" The older lady grew silent after that, her head bowed as it appeared she was about to break out into tears. "It's because he may have what it takes to help millions of people write the Perfect Age.

"That boy..." The Writer looked wistfully in the direction of the stairs which led to Nemin's room. "He has a gift. His mind keeps creating explanations where there are none. His desire to learn, and teach what he learns, makes him a worthy candidate."

"But were you telling the truth?" The grandmother gave him a look that would've inspired tears in any other person, but To'raht only looked sternly at her. The seriousness of the situation demanded he put aside emotions... especially since they wouldn't be getting him anywhere. "Did the goddesses come from your world?"

"No," To'raht replied with a sigh. "As I said, I don't know where they came from. All I know is that no Age has ever been blessed with any 'gods' unless they were from another world."

"Couldn't we be the first?" She said hopefully, but To'raht only shook his head.

"It doesn't work that way. The only way a link could be made with your Age was if our two Ages shared a similar beginning. When your universe was created, there were no gods, just like there were none in ours. But eventually, beings of extraordinary power could've visited and laid claim to your Age."

"Would you have us not worship the ones who gave us life?"

To'raht now sat back in his chair and thought back to that day with Ja'gon. Indeed, the whole reason for that argument had been the importance of faith in To'raht's life. Even now, he couldn't say he'd given it up entirely. But he wondered if it would get in the way of his new job as a Writer of the Perfect Age.

"I don't know." To'raht's answer did little to assuage the elder's fears, but he quickly added, "But I know that if they want the best of you and your kind, they'll want you to work and learn. Our god, Yahvo, demanded we contemplate and discover. It was only when our people began believing that all the answers were right in front of them that the Ori were able to manipulate them into killing each other."

To'raht took another deep breath and stared down at the open book in his lap, his mind reaching out to that world once more - his world, or what little would be left of it soon. "Our sun will soon die... but as long as we can make an existence beyond this one, perhaps we might stop gods and spirits from interfering in our affairs. Then... we can truly be free."

* * *

><p>-= <strong>Unknown<strong> =-

_No form. No being. No life._

Such was the way the Spirit of the Abyss wanted it to be. A realm before the universe was born, where he could exist in a chaotic state of flux.

The slipstream pathways were one way it could stretch its way across time and space, expanding itself into all corners of reality. There was no greater being than to literally join with the underlying forces of the universe. Merging oneself into a state so many limited creatures called 'death' was the whole purpose of its existence.

Yet few would ever realize why its motivation had to be so dreadful. The answer lied within its very nature, which had no central mind or heart from which any living thing could extract even an inkling of its thoughts. Many considered it destructive because it apparently felt jealous of mortality. Some thought it full of evil because it seemingly wanted to be worshiped by all. But none of those theories matched the reality.

It wished for the destruction of the universe because it craved to be home.

Once calling itself Corona, it traversed this cosmos in search of a way to return. All it found was empty space where worlds formed. Not a single option remained for it... until it discovered the slipstream corridors.

A species called the Vedrans created a means to enter these corridors early in their history, and they used it to try and spread across three galaxies. But long before they could get beyond Tarn-Vedra, Corona assumed a Vedran form and led the first of them into a corridor near their planet. There, it deliberately altered the slipstream drive by unleashing its incorporeal body upon it.

The resulting effect was called the Route of Ages: a slippoint which existed between a myriad of universes and times. This offered Corona a new power of omnipresence - and a new form it could use to consume everything. Thus while the other 'gods' of the Ages took on new names, this being shed its own to exist in a purer form.

All for the sake of reliving its unfettered past.

To that end, the Spirit of the Abyss - by first creating the Route of Ages - destroyed Tarn-Vedra in this realm of existence, leaving only the faint echoes of a civilization that would have become something great had it only been given the chance.

From there, it could begin influencing others beyond the Andromeda galaxy... and in the process, it began a series of events that would culminate in a future nobody could have imagined.


	2. Chapter 2: Harvest

**Author's Note**: This is the chapter for those with a taste for sci-fi. I split this one from chapter one because of its intense focus on sci-fi concepts - particularly ancient alien life. I'll inevitably add to this chapter again before moving on to the next, so I apologize ahead of time if any readers miss an update notification as a result.

* * *

><p>The Progenitors: an ancient species that lived over four billion years ago, responsible for the seeding of life on many worlds. These people were also variously known as 'Preservers' and 'Engineers', each term with its own implications. All of them shared an advanced understanding of genetic engineering, and each were involved in the ultimate evolution of all life in the Milky Way galaxy. Perhaps a key to understanding them was to recognize the different eras they each lived in, and the myriad of planets they'd expanded to.<p>

First, the Progenitors themselves were the earliest incidence of their species. Long before the most recognizable creatures propagated the galaxy, the Progenitors traveled among the stars alone, save for two others: the Leviathans and a subject race. Initially gathered on a single planet, the Leviathans exuded control over the ones above from beneath the oceans of their world, using powerful telekinetic abilities to exude their will on a species that would become the ancestors of the first Vorta.

Though the Leviathans controlled much of the galaxy, the Progenitors never disputed them. Minds shielded from the Leviathans' powers, they hid themselves for many millennia, spreading across part of the galaxy in secret, far from the Leviathan realm. They found none like themselves, and so began creating other humanoids through the introduction of genetic markers in the evolutionary soup of countless worlds. One such world was the future home of the Changelings: a name given to the various creatures modified to become without solidity, capable of changing into many different forms.

While most of the Progenitors' work was undone by the infernal Grey, who interfered in the early evolution of thousands of species, the Changelings remained. Perhaps the Grey saw nothing to gain from their kind, as they searched for the secrets to ascension. The Changelings would never ascend, content as they were to live in their Great Link - a sea of fluidic bodies all intermixing with one another.

At about this time, other species had begun evolving and creating synthetic life. Many were destroyed by their own creations, all because they refused to overcome their fears - and those egos so central to the plot of the being(s) involved in all affairs of existence. The Leviathans constructed the all-knowing Catalyst as a means to an end. This Catalyst was a form of snythetic itself, designed to consider an end to the fierce cycle of destruction the Leviathans saw as threatening their hold on the galaxy.

But when this Intelligence determined an answer, the Leviathans would find themselves caught in the midst of a war with their own creation. While the Progenitors evacuated several worlds, they left the Leviathans - a hostile and conceited race - to their own devices. Catalyst created an army using the genetic material of many species. The result was the first evolution of the Jem'Hadar.

They spread over the entire Leviathan empire, crushing their subject species while the Catalyst itself took a live sample to become the first of a kind called Reapers. Thus in the sorrow of the Leviathans' fall, the answer to the repeated loss of civilizations gone by was factored into the fundamental equation of how those same lives could be preserved for eternity. The ancestral Jem'Hadar were among the last to be harvested, but their genetic material was preserved by the Progenitors with the technology devised from a millennia hiding from the Leviathans.

From then on, the Progenitors themselves hid in small numbers in various parts of the galaxy - particularly the outermost rims. As they developed and evolved themselves, they continued their genetic experiments. One such creation was the xenophore seed in an underground city beneath the surface of Ba'ku. That war after the emergence of the Reapers was nearly a disaster, yet they defeated the Xenophore... at the cost of nearly their entire race by a single infection.

Yet part of the seed that spawned those beasts was preserved by a Progenitor enraptured with the creation of a defense against the Reapers. To that end, this lone Progenitor fled across the galaxy in search of a means to prevent the loss of his research to the untamed progeny of the Leviathans' genius.

The Preservers flourished long after, nearly ten thousand years after the fall of the Protheans. During this era of history, the Goa'uld civilization discovered the stargate only to seek out new hosts for them to take, yet they were not the empire they'd one day be. Prothean technology and biology defeated every attempt by the parasites to infiltrate their society, and the later Preservers were similarly immune.

Unlike their Progenitor brethren, the Preservers remained untouched by the Xenophore virus. Instead, they shared a small part of the galaxy with several other species. They brought about the beginning of the small Edo race, which would one day undergo a legend of such proportions that their god would nearly collapse. Other species were also transplanted from dying worlds to others as part of the Preservers' strategy for undoing damage caused by any number of factors.

Finally, there are the Engineers. These were a later evolution of the Preservers, called into existence in a galaxy filled with primordial lifeforms. Unlike the other two, however, the Engineers were swept from existence when they faced a Reaper extermination without the others of their kind. Overconfident and narcissistic, these Engineers believed they could defeat the Reapers by using the Xenophore seed. However, like any who resisted the acumen of the Catalyst, the Engineers disappeared from the annals of history, without even a footnote left for all their incomplete accomplishments.

Penned,  
>The Orator<p>

* * *

><p>-=<strong> 3.8 billion years ago, in the Milky Way Galaxy<strong> =-

"Ma'lak, what are you doing?!" A Progenitor in a plain white robe indicative of her status as a scientist backed away slowly, hands held in front of her. "No! Stop!"

A beam of green energy lashed out, striking her squarely in the chest. The force of the charged current knocked the late technician back into a console overlooking the chamber below. Ma'lak approached with the pistol-like weapon gripped in one hand, still pointed at her. Yet something was different about him compared to the others of his kind.

"If that is the way it must be," the male spoke with a deep, impassive voice. His voice carried with it a feral growl of distinctive resonance. "Then so be it."

The one called Ma'lak approached the console and ingloriously shoved the other Progenitor's body to the floor. As he leaned over the console display, he noticed his reflection gazing back at him. His face had been partially transformed, the xenophore virus mutating the very fabric of his skin into a coarse layer covered in grimy scales. Even his left eye was covered somewhat by strands of skin stretching from the brow to the cheek, leaving only a small opening through which he could see his lack of any pupil.

That view clearly disgusted him, for Ma'lak sneered with a groan and slammed the fist of his other hand into the screen, effectively shattering it so that the face staring up at him in similar revulsion could barely be seen. But this action only served to remind further remind Ma'lak of what he'd become, for his hand was likewise beastly in having not only its skin altered, but the three digits of his finger morphed together into the beginning of a sharp tendril.

Not long ago, Ma'lak had been one of the lead scientists in the project to develop the full potential of the creatures. Their Council believed these creations could unleash a virus upon the Reapers that would end their wave of destruction for good. Not one to disagree with his leaders, Ma'lak worked to gain the trust of his people. They trusted him, along with three dozen others, to complete this project so there would be no more running.

Then, one day, the xenophore became unruly and escaped their prisons. Sensing their creators as prey, those insectoid brutes attacked everyone they encountered. Taking control of the Progenitors' technology, they launched a full-scale invasion of the worlds colonized by one of the galaxy's first civilizations. However, in the end, those pests were destroyed until all that was left was the seed itself, buried deep within the chasms of Ba'ku.

"Ma'lak!" That shout came from behind him, but he didn't turn to face its source. He knew who it was, and it took all his self-control not to unleash his fury right then and there. "What have you done, child? What cruel fates have ailed you so, that you would kill your own kind to preserve the folly of our foolishness?"

"It speaks." Ma'lak gradually formulated that answer. "It speaks to me, mother."

"Who?" The voice behind him sounded as concerned as any good mother would be. "Who speaks to you?"

There was only silence for a time, as Ma'lak glowered at his broken reflection. When he spoke, it was as deliberate as before. "It is many. Its symphony beckons me."

"Ma'lak," the one who gave life to that being twisted by the vicissitudes of life exclaimed softly. "Please come home. Your family... we miss you."

It had been a long time since he'd heard those words. Ma'lak left his family in disgrace the day the xenophore turned against them. Afraid to face not only his governing Council, but also the disappointment of his loved ones, Ma'lak isolated himself with other scientists seeking to cure the virus that struck them all when the creatures turned on them.

Some years later, his mother, Xa'tal, used her influence to find him. She tried to convince him that his research would see no end, and rather than attempt to resolve the quandary brought about by his kind's flaws, she wanted him to return home with her to be with his family in these final days. Ma'lak refused and tried to continue, but Xa'tal interfered and had his work destroyed with the acquiescence of the Council. To say he'd grown upset would be an understatement, for Ma'lak escaped and hid on a barren world.

While his kind often died from the virus, Ma'lak survived along with several others. They began to feel the presence of each other regardless of distance, and soon after, these hybrids converged on the planet where the xenophore originated: Ba'ku. Though the effects of the Briar Patch limited the control of the seed, Ma'lak and the others were nonetheless still driven to propagate the species of which they'd become a part.

Xa'tal and many others controlled the undercity, soon ordered to find a way to limit the spread of the virus rather than undo its effects entirely. But Ma'lak and the altered Progenitors wouldn't allow even their own kind to stand in the way of summoning their progeny from the depths of Ba'ku itself.

"Your concern means nothing," stated Ma'lak in that same detached voice he'd been using ever since the virus altered his physiology. "All I am is for the many."

"If that were true, you'd not be doing this." Xa'tal took a single step forward, causing Ma'lak to casually straighten and turn to face her. She'd not seen his face in over two years, and her initial reaction made no secret of her surprise and worry. Xa'tal shook her head and began to approach until two spider-like mandibles emerged from the dark recesses of his mouth, inviting her to come closer if she dared. She didn't. "Ma'lak, what's become of you?"

"The many I serve is no longer yours," said Ma'lak after the mandibles retracted. He gestured to the large chamber below with his good arm. As he spoke the next few words, his voice sounded cracked and dry, as if he were suffering. "I am becoming one with it."

"No. You're still with us, Ma'lak. You can still hear me."

Ma'lak grunted as he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. Without another word, he turned back to the console and input the commands that would begin the materialization process. If all went as planned, the xenophore seed would be restored in the center of the chamber below.

"Ma'lak!" Xa'tal swiftly ran over to the edge of the balcony and looked down with eyes wide as the circular light on the floor began to glow. She then face him, though he'd focused all his attention on the console display. "What have you done?!"

"I've freed them." The mutated creature that was Ma'lak gradually lifted his head until his lifeless gaze fixated on Xa'tal.

"No," its mother exclaimed as she backed away, now legitimately afraid. Ma'lak had finally taken the irreversible step that would lead to millennia of genocide that could only be surpassed by the Reapers. The monitor on the computer already displayed the countdown, and it wouldn't be more than a minute before the xenophore was recreated in full. "I have to stop this."

As she swayed back in the direction she'd come, Ma'lak's obscene head snapped up. Xa'tal had already begun to descend the walkway along the edge of the room, while the sound of the generators humming grew increasingly louder. "What do you plan to do?" Ma'lak shouted as he left the console and approached the waist-high fence separating the balcony from the chambers below. "The process can't be reversed!"

Xa'tal eventually arrived on the ground floor, where she stood by the phosphorescent light that radiated with an progressively luminous intensity with each passing second. She turned her head upward and faced her injured son. "Perhaps you are right. But I will die before this succeeds." Smiling ever so tenderly as a mother regarding her child one last time, Xa'tal said, "I love you, Ma'lak. Remember that."

Before Ma'lak even realized what she would do, Xa'tal hit a small device wrapped around her wrist and wandered into the gleam beneath them. Though Ma'lak rushed down the ramp his mother had descended earlier, he somehow knew he couldn't make it in time. Halting by the fence, he noticed his mother watching him from within the brazen effulgence. As if time had decelerated to a crawling state, Ma'lak saw his mother engulfed in the light before trying to dash down the ramp as fast as he could.

Then the building shook, the light flashed, and Ma'lak tumbled to the floor. A crawling sensation built up inside of him - a sign that the virus was spreading faster and with more severity. The pain was practically unbearable, but Ma'lak held his eyes open as long as he could.

The last thing he would see before the shadow enclosed him was the light dissipating... and Xa'tal collapsing where she stood.

Unbeknownst to Ma'lak, Xa'tal would survive thanks to the reviving effect of the Briar Patch. But Ma'lak had to be sealed away in cryostasis, possibly never to awaken again. In the meantime, Xa'tal found ways to prolong her life beneath the planet Ba'ku for as long as she could. Seeing what became of Ma'lak, Xa'tal now sought a cure, in contrast to her initial convictions. Yet she lived every day with the knowledge that the seed within her might assert itself beyond the confines of the Briar Patch, and so she remained on Ba'ku for the next three billion years to save the galaxy of an enemy far more dangerous than even she could realize.

* * *

><p>Merely a year later, Ma'lak was no more, though his body remained. Everything about him faded along with the memories and experiences he had as a Progenitor. Eventually, in a lab aboard his ship, he injected himself with a single portion of the xenophore seed, considering his body as the only other safe place for it. This lapse in judgment wasn't due to any altruism; it was purely an effect of instinct.<p>

What he didn't realize was how deep his conscious mind would be buried. Becoming something akin to a feral creature, or a sizable arachnid, Ma'lak could no longer use his knowledge to pilot his ship. Instead, he became a prisoner of his own doing, crawling about the biomechanical halls and chambers alongside the others that had joined him in the assault on Ba'ku. They established each corridor, including every nook and cranny, as a nest for their young.

Then a ship of colossal size took notice of this vessel drifting listlessly among the stars. It approached and overshadowed the much smaller craft until it was right on top of it. Tractor beams drew the infected Progenitor ship into the bowels of the much larger vessel, and the doors in which it entered closed behind.

Within the massive open chamber of the mothership, smaller fighter craft shot by through the thick blue mist. As the tinier ship reached the very center of the behemoth, it was slowed to a stop by several beams of light shot from somewhere on the unseen ceiling. A loud chime echoed through the expanse, heard only by the aliens wandering the halls. It was time to send in an extraction crew to begin harvesting whatever valuable materials and technology the Progenitor ship contained.

The aft door slid open with a hiss, causing a single xenophore at the end of the corridor to scurry away. Though the hall was dark, bright sapphire light illuminated not only the room, but the invaders also: towering bipedal lifeforms with grey skin and crest-shaped heads complete with meager faces, eight curled tentacles attached to their backs, four long fingers which ended in claws, and feet of two similar 'fingers' curled back. There were four of them to begin with, though more would be sent in after.

Their 'bodies' were no more than suits containing organic beings, though the exoskeleton proved quite resistant as they wandered swiftly through the passageways. Even when one of the spider-like xenophores leaped on to an intruder, it was unable to penetrate the tough cartilage surrounding the suit. The sharpened tips of their tendrils were enough to kill each xenophore at close range, and their energy weapons tore through them otherwise.

It wasn't until one was captured alive that the aliens' experiments truly commenced. One of their most proficient minds directed the dissection of those neutralized, followed soon after with its design of a retrovirus capable of undoing the morphogenic changes experienced by the captured Progenitors. Ultimately, Ma'lak was one of those transformed back into his original form, only to find he was trapped in an unfamiliar room, arms and legs strapped to a cold, metal table.

A light shined above him, making it difficult to see what lied in the shadows around him. Though he initially grappled with his restraints, Ma'lak ceased when he felt a sudden chill. Everything was silent as his eyes darted about, seeking whatever had caused the disturbance.

Then his gaze focused on something above him: a single tendril blanketed by the glow that blinded him. It slowly descended upon him, laying at rest upon the bridge of his neck. Without warning, it wrapped around his esophagus and clenched down hard, causing him to lose his breath even as he struggled even more fiercely. The face of one of the aliens slowly surfaced out of the darkness, its listless glare reminding Ma'lak of what he'd become.

Just as its prisoner managed to choke out a sound, the creature sent a telepathic thought into his mind. It was simple, yet could never be translated into a proper language. Rather, it forced Ma'lak to open his considerations for his interrogator to peruse.

"You are a creator," claimed the foreign voice in the Progenitor's head, though it confided as if it could be overheard. "An interloper. Enemy of our kind."

The being consistently had a grip on his throat, but Ma'lak was able to manage a weak nod. With his answer, the tendril around his throat loosened somewhat. Yet even though his body was no longer being damaged, his brain was being thoroughly scrutinized for answers to the creature's unspoken questions.

"Xenophore." It thought aloud, making the Progenitor feel all of its virulent wonder. When it finished, the beast retreated into the dark again, its extra limb persistently threatening to suffocate him once more. "We will perfect it. You will be the first."

Although Ma'lak wanted to protest, he felt the sting of a needle piercing his arm, followed by an acrid sensation spreading throughout his body. Slowly, the lamp above him dimmed until the last of his cognizance cried out into the night with the voice of a child.

"Mother!"

* * *

><p>Centuries passed in the blink of an eye. The creatures that had captured Ma'lak experimented with the xenophore. These Vedi, as they'd be named, were the same that sought retribution against the enigmatic Grey. Naturally evolved from Grey settlers on a distant planet in the Milky Way, the Vedi found themselves targeted by their ancestors for the latter's own evolutionary development. Experimented upon, many horribly disfigured, the Vedi rose up against the Grey and established an interstellar empire that included others who naturally and artificially evolved directly from the Grey. Those unlucky enough to be unrelated to the Grey, or to be created by other species, were targets for destruction - all so the Vedi could harness each planet's resources in war against the abuse of their kind.<p>

The one responsible for the xenophore project that claimed Ma'lak's life was a particularly cryptic individual. This same scientist among the Vedi created a cloning project, then modified its clones to resemble that of a target species. When unleashed, these malignant puppets could manipulate events on a grand scale, going so far as to induce nuclear wars or natural disasters. One such being would be called Kane: a human variant of its primary Vedi counterpart sent to Earth with an army of Areas, the latter a slave species with memorable land vehicles called Tripods. With a war still ongoing between them and the Grey, the Vedi saw Earth as one more outpost from which they could launch attacks.

But the xenophore played a crucial role in the manifold millennia ahead. The Vedi lost the war in the Milky Way, forced to abandon their ill-gotten gains there, yet the war with the Grey was far from over. Retreating to the nearby Whirlpool Galaxy, the Vedi of the Milky Way continued resisting the Grey while simultaneously expanding in all directions. After arriving in the foreign region of space, the alien scientist completed the first of a series of creatures derived from the xenophore virus: the Scrin.

Unlike their creators, the Scrin were designed to withstand the toxic environment of a planet upon which the first deposits of a material called tiberium could be found. Initially, this was to prevent the Scrin from leaving their world without the tiberium provided by the Vedi. However, in time, the Scrin would take fate into their own hands, developing their technology from the designs operated by both the Vedi and their subject species. These venomous creatures initially worked in secret, lacing comets throughout the galaxy with tiberium. When those aforementioned shards crashed into planets, they'd begin infecting those worlds with tiberium.

Thus the Scin rebelled against their creators, organic against organic, inaugurating the propitious advent of their empire. Even with the resources of several galaxies behind them, the Vedi couldn't end the insurrection, and the Scrin were able to turn their attention to other neighboring galaxies. One day, they'd even become a problem for the species of the Milky Way.

While the Scrin were in the process of their epic revolt, events in Milky Way had grown more turbulent. Shortly before this era, the half-Goa'uld, half-ascended Anunnaki had their rise and fall on Earth, creating humanity in the process - ironically to be mere laborers in their quest for gold to power a portentous Grey artifact. After the Vedi left, the Progenitors died of the xenophore. Then, on the eve of the Scrin revolt in the Whirlpool Galaxy, a species called the Protheans emerged as a dominant civilization in the Milky Way.

The end of the Prothean empire has already been recorded, yet I must stress that they improved upon the Crucible - a terrible weapon capable of preventing the Reaper harvests. Though incomplete in their lifetimes, the space-borne device would continue to receive improvements over the course of its existence. Should the Progenitors have ignored their policy of non-interference, and if the xenophore hadn't destroyed so many, they might have assisted the Protheans in its completion.

Yet even the Progenitors had survivors: a small, isolated group called the Preservers. Though they could hide from the Reapers each cycle, they found it more beneficial to act in tandem: after the Reapers destroyed, the Preservers would create. Thus a balance unseen by the Catalyst, which insisted on constant invasion and integration, prevented the absolute implosion of that galaxy's population.

One such creation was the Edo: humanoids ruled by a semi-mechanical god designed by a Preserver. Though blessed with a powerful protector, there was a sense of dread on the day the Reapers crossed the threshold - and found their world.

Penned,  
>The Orator<p>

* * *

><p>-= <strong>August 1, 2000 CE, on the planet Earth<strong> =-

"There is a secret. One our people kept from you."

Dr. Ivan Mikhailov, a brusque man of some years, sat across the hastily assembled table from the Nox. It was less than twelve days since the Russian Stargate program began in Siberia. Colonel Chekov had authorized a mission to an unexplored world a little over a month ago. Ivan, newly assigned to the team of Colonel Vasilyev, was a linguist brought out of his tedious job at the U.N. If someone had told him he would be communicating with another species back then, he might have scoffed at the idea; yet now, his mind was consumed with the plight of the Nox.

Less than a week ago, Vasilyev and his team were the first to step foot on Tollana, nearly a year after SG-1's first visit to the planet. The Tollan people were less than happy to see human visitors, yet before they could be returned through the Stargate, someone rushed into the room: a young Nox, apparently no older than twenty, though he'd lived much longer. He practically begged to be taken with them, and the Tollan commander was in no way able to argue. After the Tollan settled on their new homeworld, one Nox elected to stay behind. His name was Acheron.

"I stayed with them because I thought they could save my kind one day."

"Save them?" Dr. Mikhailov questioned. "Save them how?"

"From the ones who consume the sky," Acheron explained as though it were common knowledge. "They tried to change us into one of them."

This brought them to the point where Acheron revealed the Nox had been withholding information from the SGC. That initial confusion over who the Russians were was quickly put to rest early on, when Ivan first met the man on Tollana.

"Long ago, my people were like you... in appearance at least." Acheron continued unabated, while Ivan sat with his hands crossed on the table in front of him. "Our kind flourished, though we lived simple lives. At the time, we had a god looking over us. Legend claims it was put there by our creator. Whenever someone would try to approach our planet with ill intent, our god would sense it and destroy their vessel."

"Sounds familiar," stated Dr. Mikhailov with a smirk.

"If... you say so." Acheron fumbled his words for only a moment, then promptly returned on course with his story. "One day, something approached that was far stronger than anything our god had ever encountered before."

"Dr. Mikhailov." Ivan didn't turn to face the source of the masculine voice, knowing full well who was speaking. It was Colonel Vasilyev, who wanted to be present during the interrogation. "We don't have time for these fairy tales."

"Colonel," the sole linguist in a team of five said as he sat up and looked over his shoulder. "I know what I'm doing."

"Forgive me for being blunt, doctor," Vasilyev replied in a sour voice. "But how exactly does knowing this help us find a way to defeat the Goa'uld?"

"It may exaggerate a little," Ivan claimed as he focused his attention on the Nox, who became noticeably more anxious following Vasilyev's interruption. "But myth can be based in historical fact."

"And?" Vasilyev sounded no less annoyed.

"We follow the yellow brick road." Before Vasilyev could argue, Dr. Mikhailov waved his hand and said, "Continue."

It took him a moment to gather himself again, but Acheron finally did as he was told. "We don't know what it was, or why it attacked. But it overpowered our god and nearly destroyed it. The last my ancestors saw was the sky turning dark and the stars disappearing above us. Years later, they returned to us, but our god was gone - along with whatever attacked us. All we had left was the technology it left behind."

As soon as the colonel heard this, he grew more attentive than ever, even leaning forward on the table. Ivan smirked, knowing this had been worth the wait.

"We slowly changed, each generation less like the other. I've learned this was because we'd been visited by beings from another realm. They showed us much, helped us develop our abilities, until one day, they stopped. In our fear, we sought friendship with others not of our kind. One such visitor arrived on our world. He was part of an alliance with three others. We joined them, helped to build mutual understanding between our kinds. The others would come to our assistance whenever we needed them, and we would offer whatever we could in return... except violence."

"Pacifists." Dr. Mikhailov sat back and crossed his arms, giving Vasilyev a smug look. The colonel frowned and stood straight. "What do you think, colonel? Take what we can, or shall we play by the rules?"

Acheron's eyes opened wide at the very suggestion. "Wait!" That caught the attention of his two main interrogators. "I asked to be brought here because we need help."

This piqued Ivan's curiosity, even though Vasilyev remained stoic and unresponsive. "Go on."

"We have learned what it was that destroyed our god all those years ago." Once more, this made Vasilyev raise an eyebrow, and Ivan seemed just as curious. "We weren't its only target. It was one of many, sent from beyond to destroy everyone in this galaxy... to merge us with their own kind. But this is what is most important... something neither my kind nor the Tollan will accept:

"They will return. And we have no way of knowing when."


End file.
